


In Deep

by Auggusst



Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, M/M, Panic Attack, Past Torture, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Remembering torture, Supportive Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trauma, Waterboarding, may be triggering, not TOO graphic but I put the warning anyway, pool party gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 09:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: When a pool party at the tower goes wrong, Tony is thrown right back into 2008, and suffers a major panic attack. To his surprise, Steve is there to help, and makes him feel better, makes him forget about it all. Tony falls in love just a little more.EDIT: Rewritten July 2020.





	In Deep

**Author's Note:**

> The angst goblins on my tumblr asked for this. I had a nice little list of prompts for them to choose from, and they picked the only angsty one. This must be payback for the CW fics.  
> Either way, this piece made me realize I'm terrible at writing pining. There's a reason I normally stick to established relationships lol.

Tony enjoyed swimming. He really did. There was a reason the Malibu Mansion had one massive, gorgeous infinity pool overlooking the coast, and why Stark Tower possessed an equally gorgeous rooftop pool on the penthouse’s sub-level, which could be converted into an indoor pool for the winter months. There was nothing as comforting as floating undisturbed, the cool water on his back and in his hair, and the sun warming his face, or gliding below the water, the world quiet and muffled, and beautiful isolation.

Tony remembered vacations to Italy in his childhood, hours spent at the ocean. He remembered wearing his little water shoes, chasing crabs across the shore, building sand castles. He remembered wading in the water, laughing as the waves carried him. His mother had even joined him a few times on the beach, in the water, though mostly it was Jarvis who kept him company, rubbed sunscreen on his little face, shouted at him when he swam too far out. Beach days were some of the happiest of his childhood, and he thought back on them often.

Swimming was good, in Tony's opinion. It brought good memories to mind.

Water itself however, held a less advantageous connotation, since his three month ‘vacation’ in the desert.

Of course Tony remembered being waterboarded. He doubted anyone could ever forget experiencing something like that. He remembered being dunked under water, held until his lungs burned, until he heard his own pulse in his ears and his limbs jerked. He remembered rough hands keeping him pinned down until he gasped and sputtered, and he inhaled water, could feel the way it burned in his nose, threw him into a panic. He remembered their shouting as his body heaved, tried to expel the liquid, coughing and retching, his vision swimming with black spots, and how they would give him precious little time to recover before doing it again, and again, and again.

The water had been cold, freezing really. It reminded him of the ice cubes clinking around in his whiskey glass in the Humvee. 

Tony remembered holding out as long as possible, when he was getting tortured. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of winning, didn't want the deaths of the young, brave soldiers that died in the attack to be in vain. Tony held on as best as he could, his lungs protesting and brain screaming, refusing the demands to build the Jericho, until his kidnappers dipped the exposed wires of the car battery he was hooked up to into the water, and watched his body tighten up as pain bloomed in his chest, blinding and intense.

He passed out the first time they did it. They did it three more times before he finally gave in.

He couldn’t believe how much it hurt. He was in pain already, constantly, from his impromptu surgery, and the crude device that was keeping shrapnel at bay, but nothing compared to being electrocuted from the inside out, muscles constricting impossibly tight, fire racing through his veins, leaving him burning, agonized, and shocked. He was surprised he didn’t go into cardiac arrest that day, that he had survived it. Looking back, he was surprised he survived any of it, including the shrapnel, and the massive device implanted in his chest.

The first version of the electromagnet was heavy, ill fitting, and the scars that formed around it were especially rough, and still bothered him today. It had pushed on his sternum, made it difficult to breathe sometimes. It was still difficult to breathe today on occasion, and there were times when his chest was filled with phantom pain, even though the shrapnel had been removed, and he'd been free of the arc reactor for half a year now. Still, the first iteration was both a blessing and a curse, and often crossed his mind, and so did the emotional baggage that came with it. There was a specific type of shame he felt the first few days, scared, alone(excepting Yinsen, the kind, heroic man who had given Tony the courage to live, to escape, and whose face still haunted Tony's dreams on occasion) carrying around a ratty old car battery, hearing the laughter and sneers from his captors. The stench of motor oil and electrical discharge, which had always been pleasant to him, had made his nose burn.

He held out almost a full day of waterboarding. He would’ve lasted longer maybe, if they didn’t beat him beforehand. Looking back on it all, Tony wasn’t entirely sure what kept him alive back then. Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe Stark men really were made of iron, like his father always said. Maybe it was truly Yinsen's encouragement alone that gave Tony the strength to carry on. He wasn't sure. He tried not to dwell on those few months. In fact, Tony actively avoided thinking about them, and all the pain that came with that time in his life. It was safe to say, the horrors he endured chased him relentlessly even today, regardless of if he listened to their dark chatter or not.

It took Tony months to go swimming again after the fact, and he only did so when completely alone. He needed the control, needed to be sure no one would harm him. The thought of ever being in the water with another individual again scared him. Of course it was silly. The people around him, he trusted absolutely, but his body never forgot.

It would be too easy for someone to overpower him, to shove him underwater and watch him drown, or worse, not let him drown. That was the worst part of the waterboarding, he thought afterwards. The release of death was denied. You were held at the edge again and again, forced to hold on when all you wanted was to let go. It would've been so much easier to let go, he thought sometimes, but he hadn't, and he was still here today, and had to find a way to carry on with the memory of it all.

The thought of everything that had happened to him in that cave still made him shudder, still made his hands twitch and his breathing uneven when he thought about it today. He had been changed, entirely, and was still changing as a result of it all, and each new, loaded, terrifying experience he came face to face with. But, like most of his issues, he kept the water thing to himself, and avoided situations that would lead to questioning. Nobody had to know how broken he really was.

It was easy for a few years, until he found himself with a team, with a group of friends, and his little secret spilled out.

The pool party was Clint’s idea. It was an unnaturally hot day in the city, almost 100 instead of the balmy upper 80s they usually endured, and the team jumped on the idea of poolside drinks and BBQ. Tony figured his adversity to swimming with others wouldn’t be an issue. Natasha wasn’t in the water either. She rested on a lounge chair next to him, tanning, and watching Barton and Thor splash at each other in the pool. The Asgardian had come to stay in the tower full time, as they were on the hunt for Loki’s scepter. He was boisterous, a lot to handle, but also incredible fun, and surprisingly supportive and understanding of privacy. Bruce in particular appreciated his softer side.

Steve, who had experimented with cooking in the last few months, manned the grill with expertise. Tony couldn’t have been blamed for staring behind his darkly tinted sunglasses as the blond flipped burgers. His t-shirt was unbearably tight, and his swim trunks put his gorgeous calves on display. His hair was covered at the moment with a baseball cap that Tony had given him as a welcoming gift, and boy if that didn’t make his chest tighten with emotion.

The brunet suspected he wore it, and his entire outfit, on purpose, to taunt Tony by looking like some GQ Magazine cover that was running a special on suburban backyard dads who were the envy of the neighborhood. His smile was blinding as he watched Thor dunk Clint under the water. Tony took a sip of his iced tea to recover, feeling too warm suddenly.

He had long since admitted to himself that he was utterly infatuated with the soldier, and times like this he wished he could just walk right over and give him a big, long kiss, but he doubted that would go over well. There was no way Steve would be interested in him(did he even like men?), and it would just be incredibly awkward and make living and working together unbearable until the end of their days if the scientist so spectacularly crossed his boundaries.

So instead of acting on his fantasy, Tony sighed to himself wistfully and stretched on his stomach out on his lounge chair, ready to nap or simply relax until food was done. Part of him wanted to swim. Clint and Thor, and even Bruce now, seemed to be having a great time in the pool. The blue of the water looked as inviting as ever, the gentle sound of their splashing music to Tony's ears as much as it was a siren, warning him of danger. The others were obviously enjoying it, unaware of the brunet's secret plight. Clint even suggested hooking up the volleyball net later, so they could play in the water, and Steve agreed to play a game after eating. Tony was thankful Natasha abstained from the activity, because it gave him an excuse to stay out of the pool as well, as the teams would be even.

It didn’t make him happy though. In fact, it made him more than a little jealous. If only he weren’t so fucked up, had so many issues, he could be having the same amount of fun as the others. He could be laughing and carefree, comfortable, like normal people were in the water. Instead he flipped through articles on his phone, snuck glances at the others every few minutes, and tried not to let on how disappointed he was in himself.

Tony was resigned to his fate—maybe he would come out at night for a swim by himself— but his plans were ruined by a few conniving Avengers.

Tony’s first indication that something was up was the sudden drop in volume from the pool. Clint, when comfortable, hardly ever was silent, and just a few minutes ago he had been retelling a humorous story from his youth, which even brought a laugh out of Natasha. Now though, the archer’s voice had dropped so low that Tony couldn’t even understand his words even when paying attention.

Tony’s second indication that something was afoot was one large Asgardian hopping out of the pool, and making a bee-line in his direction. When he spotted the God of Thunder’s too-friendly grin, it was easy to put two and two together.

“No, no no,” Tony said, scrambling up and onto his knees instantly, the phone dropping from his hands. His eyes flitted left and right, looking for an out, but Thor’s strides were too large. He crossed the distance before Tony could climb off of his lounge chair.

Clint’s laughter echoed around the pool as Thor promptly scooped the scientist up. Under different circumstances, it would’ve been kind of hot how easily he lifted Tony, and who wouldn’t want a body like Thor’s pressed up against theirs, but the brunet couldn’t focus on that now. He couldn’t focus on anything but the panic that ripped through him absurdly quickly, and he struggled in Thor’s arms as the edge of the pool grew closer, his heart beating so fast that he could feel it in his throat. He was shaking and struggling in Thor's grasp, but Thor handled him with ease, chuckling, unaware of how it was actually affecting the scientist.

“Fuck, no! No! Please! Thor! _Thor!_ ” His voice was shrill, strained, wavered more than he would have liked, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Or at least, didn’t until it was too late. In his peripheral he could see Natasha sitting up, stance guarded, apparently catching the hint that he wasn’t being dramatic for the sake of fun, but before she could interject, Tony was being dumped in the water, with little more warning than a rumble of laughter from the blond.

The water was _cold_. It sent an immediate shock through his system, an unpleasant one, that immediately triggered the danger signal, sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. Tony’s sunglasses slipped off somewhere in the water, and he struggled to get to the surface. In the middle of his panic, he inhaled a bit of water, and when his feet failed to contact with solid ground, he realized Thor had dropped him in the deep end. He was disoriented, _terrified_ , struggled to follow the light back to the surface. Tony thanked his lucky stars that his body had enough self-preservation skill left to bring him up, and after what felt like a lifetime, he breached the surface sputtering and gasping, swinging his arms wildly to keep his head aloft.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded: Bruce, Clint and Thor formed a ring around him, and the realization that he was essentially trapped, was in a pool _with other people_ who could very easily pin him down and hurt him, was so startling that he almost cried right there.

Poor, oblivious Clint, reached out, with a peal of laughter and a comment about cooling off, and Tony flinched away immediately, swimming frantically backwards. “Fuck off, Barton! F-fuck, don’t touch me!” the brunet said, voice raised a lot higher than he wanted it to be.

The archer finally got the message, took in Tony's unnatural behavior and concern crossed his face. “Hey man, are you alright?” he asked, holding his hands up in a gesture of calming.

“I think we shocked him,” Bruce commented at his side.

“Stark?” Thor chimed in, a hint of regret in his tone, alongside confusion. None of them had ever seen Tony like this.

Tony knew they meant well, wanted to check up on him, but right now, his body only registered them as potential threat. He wanted out of here. He wanted to be dry, and warm and _alone_ , wanted to be able to breathe without feeling like there was an anvil sitting on his chest. The weight of it was crushing. “Please! Just—d-don’t—“ he tried to say, breathing dangerously close to hyperventilation. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone touching him now, and any distance was too close for his liking.

He swam backwards until he hit the edge of the pool, and thankfully they didn’t follow. He pulled himself up over the ledge quicker than was comfortable, and even scraped his shin in the process, but that didn’t matter. The sharp, quick pain of his grazed leg paled in comparison to the revulsion running through him, choking him. His lungs burned a little from the coughed-up water, and he stumbled to his feet, pressing a hand to his chest defensively. His eyes fixed on the door, and he hurried inside, tried to ignore his dizzying vision.

The change in daylight reminded him suspiciously of an Afghan cave, and he barely made it ten steps into the living room before his knees landed on the shiny floor. He would be feeling that later, he was sure of it. But right now, his body was stiff with phantom pain, with memories that were burned too deep in his flesh to forget.

Tony hated panic attacks.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” the brunet whined, eyes quickly filling with tears and sobs bubbling up in his chest. He was trembling, pretty hard actually, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, as if someone would reach out at any moment and lock a hand around him. He knew he wasn’t far enough away from the others, or from the phantom fiend. He wasn’t isolated, he wasn’t _safe_. He wasn’t going to be alone for long either, sitting only a few feet away from the deck, and he knew it. Part of him wondered if they were staring at him through the glass, like some wounded animal in a cage, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and check. Someone would undoubtedly come inside to check on him soon, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

He leaned forward, actually _crawled_ across the floor when he found his legs too shaky to stand on, uncaring of the massive puddle of water he was leaving in his wake. It was difficult to move though. His hands shook intensely, and his vision was blurry. The world felt like it was spinning, faster and faster. Tony choked on his sobs, felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and that only drove him further into despair, made it all that much worse. It had been a good long while since his last panic attack, but even the last one hadn’t been as bad as this.

He tried closing his eyes, but that only made it worse. The faces of the past popped up in the dark, nefarious, gleeful at his pain, like demons come to torment him. He gave up crawling in favor of covering his chest, pressing his hands to his scars protectively. He laid down on his stomach, tried grounding himself with the pressure of the cool floor. He had to remind himself that he was safe, that the faces he saw weren’t there, that no one would ever hurt him like that again. It was a lifetime ago, but in this moment, felt like mere days ago.

Rationally, he knew that everything was okay now, but his body didn’t accept the message, and hardly ever did, after an attack. He'd gotten good at hiding his anxiety over the years, especially around the team, but his luck had seemingly run out, and it was all laid out on the table now. The scientist tried taking a deep breath, which didn’t feel deep enough. He wondered briefly if he would pass out. He was already starting to feel numb.

“Come on…” he muttered to himself. He had to get it under control before someone—

“Tony?”

Even in his haze, he recognized that voice. It was Steve. Of _course_ it was. Of course the one person he was incredibly _careful_ about his relationship with just happened to be the one to come check on him, to walk in and come across him curled up on the floor like a maniac.

“S-Steve—“ he started, summoning the will to pull himself up by his elbows. Between the white spots in his vision, he could see the blond a few feet away, hands outstretched in a gesture of calming.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Steve soothed. His face was sympathetic, but his eyes were filled with something Tony couldn’t quite place. He suspected it was pity. Thankfully, the blond didn’t come any closer, and didn’t make fun of him or leer at him. His voice was soft, warm, and too terribly understanding, despite the unfamiliar nature of this situation.

Tony suspected it must have been quite a shock, seeing him like this. His carefully crafted appearance of normalcy had just been spectacularly shattered. He'd screamed and cried in front of them, _ran away_ from them, and there was no pretending it was anything other than it had been. Tony was fragile, always had been, especially after Afghanistan, but now the team knew it, had witnessed it firsthand, and he really hated that. Though Tony’s breathing settled, a lump formed in his throat, and fresh tears of shame gathered in his eyes. He wanted to disappear right now, and maybe for forever.

“Just…just go,” the brunet whispered, struggled to get to his feet. He braced his hands on the nearby couch, tried using it to stand. His legs were shaking too hard to make much progress.

“Tony, can I come over to you?” Steve asked. He took a hesitant step forward, pulled off his baseball cap and held it in his hands.

Tony wanted to say no. He should have said no. He should’ve pushed Steve away, like he had done to others in the past. A voice that sounded like his father’s called him weak for even considering depending on someone else right now, for being emotional, needy, for letting his fears control him. He ignored it, as he'd done so many times in the past, and hesitantly nodded. He could do this. It was just Steve here. Steve would never hurt him, right? Steve was Captain America. It was his job to protect, to understand. He wouldn't make fun of Tony, wouldn't call him horrible names like the ghost of his father did.

Tony watched with wide eyes as the blond slowly approached, and began lowering himself on the floor. “I’m gonna sit next to you,” he announced.

To Tony’s own surprise, he didn’t shrink away when Steve settled next to him. He still felt ashamed though, that any of this was even happening. He'd been avoiding situations like this so long, but he'd finally slipped up, and he hated himself for it. He knew Steve would want an explanation too, for his behavior, and that made it even worse. The brunet averted his gaze, settled his eyes on his shaky hands. They were clenched into fists on his lap.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked softly.

Tony could feel blue eyes on him, and bit his lip, wrestled with how to respond. He wasn’t feeling completely better. In fact, he wasn’t even entirely over his panic, but it had subsided to manageable levels. His chest hurt with it though, and he felt kind of lightheaded, and nauseous. It always took forever for the physical symptoms to abate. He offered a little shrug, reached up to wipe away his tears.

“Peachy keen,” he replied. His voice was gravelly, and there was no conviction in his tone.

“Somehow I doubt that,” the soldier said, gaze drifting to the scrape on Tony's leg. It was bleeding a little. Steve was silent for a moment, and it was deafening. Finally, he spoke again. “I won’t ask specifics. You probably don't want to talk about any of it, and your business is your own, but what hit you so bad? What _hurt_ you like this?”

Tony swallowed hard. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. The others were probably wondering themselves. After all, this hadn’t happened before, because there were no pool parties before. He'd never talked about this in any capacity, had never admitted just how deep his trauma ran, not only from the cave, but from the _wormhole_ , and plenty of things since. It probably scared them a little too, now that he thought about it. He could bring himself to answer Steve's question. He had to.

“I…” he began.

He made the mistake of looking up into Steve’s eyes. They were so beautiful. He could stare at them for hours, get lost in the little ripples of his irises, the way the sun brought out their details, the golden lashes, absurdly long, framing them. They regarded him with rapt attention now, and despite it all, Tony felt heat gathering on his cheeks.

He cursed himself again internally, and looked down at the ground. “I was…uh…I was waterboarded, in Afghanistan.”

The silence was kind of painful, put Tony that much more on edge. He tensed up, waiting for a response. Steve took a deep breath at his side, and spoke once more.

“…I’m really sorry,” he began. “I can understand why getting tossed in the pool like that would set you off. But it was a little scary. We’ve never seen you like that.”

Tony frowned. “This isn’t really a side of myself I want everyone to see,” he replied. “I don’t need more reasons for people to whisper behind my back.”

Steve blinked at that. “Whisper behind your back? Tony, we’re your team. Teammates don’t do that.”

Tony studied him for a moment, tried to gauge his sincerity. When he didn’t respond, the blond continued.

“You trust us, right?” he asked, gaze intense. Tony folded a little under that intensity, swallowed hard.

“I…I do…” he said quietly.

“Then there’s no reason to feel ashamed or guilty or whatever you’re feeling right now. We all have things that keep us up at night,” Steve said softly.

Tony couldn’t help but noticed that he had inched closer at some point. It complicated things horribly. His kind words were taking root, soothed the shaking of Tony’s hands, the shouting in his brain. Steve was here, next to him, here _for_ him, and it was kind of overwhelming. He wanted to close the distance, to feel Steve’s arms around him, to be held, comforted with more than just words. He was more than a little touch starved, honestly, and there was no one's touch he craved more than Steve's. Coming to that realization had been kind of insane, made him angry with himself for a while, but at this point, his heart was too far gone to feel bad about it anymore.

He wondered for the millionth time what it would be like to kiss Steve. He wanted to feel those lips against his, and to have these assurances muttered into his mouth, spoken softly, with love, with devotion. He wondered what it would feel like to belong to Steve, to touch him whenever he wanted. He wondered what it would be like to hear him say ‘I love you.’

“I’m sorry,” Tony breathed eventually.

He looked into blue eyes and they looked back into his for what felt like an eternity. Sometimes silent communication worked better than verbal, and right now was one of those times. Steve expressed his support, and Tony expressed his gratitude. He got the sense that something a little more was appearing in those eyes, something warmer, kinder, and the thought scared him. Tony broke eye contact first, felt warmth bloom across his cheeks, and looked down at his legs.

“Oh,” he said softly. The spot where he had scraped himself by the pool had bled enough to flow down his legs a little.

Steve looked down at it too. “Let me clean it up,” he offered.

“No, I can handle it,” Tony replied. He moved once more to get up. Steve’s hand dropped on his shoulder though, and the brunet sank back onto the floor, like melting ice cream. That didn’t seem to please the blond either though. He offered Tony a hand then, which the brunet took, wishing he never had to let go, and pulled him over onto the couch.

“Sit here. I’ll grab the first aid kit,” the soldier said, and the scientist was inclined to follow his order.

Tony didn’t have to wait long for Steve to return. He was actually a little relieved at his quick return. Sitting alone left Tony to his thoughts, and he had plenty of bad ones to go around right now. He was still ashamed, and on edge, and would be for a long time. He feared the past, the memories that tormented him, and feared the future, didn't know what it had in store for him, if there were more horrors to encounter. As usual, his thoughts were more than a little negative, especially after being shaken up like this. With Steve in his line of sight though, looking strong and safe and familiar, he could come up with some less detrimental ones.

He swallowed hard as the blond’s hands gently braced his leg, and winced a little at the antiseptic wipe. Steve’s fingers lingered a little longer than they strictly needed to as he put a Band-Aid over the affected area, his touch gentle, and kind. Tony stared, entranced, as the blond seemed to study him. His touch was warm, somewhat intimate, and at this angle, he could just barely see those blue eyes rake over his form, like he was looking at a piece of artwork.

Tony wondered what Steve was thinking. He wondered if Steve, like him, wanted to pull Tony into his lap, to wrap his arms around him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. He wondered if he could ever feel a fraction of what Tony felt for him, if he could ever want him, in any capacity. He wondered if Steve was thinking about the rest of his body now, of the parts that were hidden, that he’d never seen, but that Tony would share with him in a heartbeat, if asked. He wondered if there was desperation burning through the soldier's veins at night, intense and overwhelming, filling him body and soul, like it sometimes did Tony's. He wondered if Steve ever thought about him, ever fantasized, the way he did.

The brunet suddenly felt self-conscious with the soldier kneeling between his legs, tending to his wound with care. It felt too intimate, for what he was sure was just a friendly gesture, and the confusion of feelings made Tony's heart beat uncomfortably fast.

He cleared his throat, slowly sliding his leg out of Steve’s grasp. “Thanks.”

Steve cleared his throat in reply, and if Tony wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks were turning red. It made his own heart jolt.

“No problem,” Steve replied, packing up the first aid kit. He stood awkwardly once finished, a few inches away, apparently deciding to either say more or to go put away the first aid kit.

Hesitantly, Tony reached out, let his fingertips brush against the soldier’s forearm. “Hey,” he said.

Steve turned to look at him immediately, eyes soft. “Yeah?” the blond asked.

“Could you… could you maybe keep it a secret? I don’t really want to get too deep into it, especially with the others.”

' _Not yet_ ,' he thought. Maybe one day he could say everything, recount his experiences without falling apart entirely. For now, there were many secrets he felt the need to keep guarded, lest they be used against him, in any capacity. He trusted Steve to guard this one now, and watched him with wide, pleading eyes as he made a decision.

“I won’t say anything specific,” Steve replied, turning fully and standing before Tony. “But maybe there should be a discussion about boundaries. I’m sure Clint feels terrible about this whole thing.”

Tony could admit that was probably a good idea. He nodded, brushed a hand through his wet hair. It was already curling up, and he might have some trouble brushing it later, but that didn’t matter at the moment. He sighed, standing up slowly. At least the world had stopped spinning.

“No need to sigh. No one’s gonna bite,” the blond said, smiling a little. He reached over to the coffee table and grabbed his hat, putting it back on.

Up close, Tony could see the starting signs of wear and tear on the cap. He didn’t physically see the soldier wearing it often, but apparently he made good use of it, and the fact that it was a gift from Tony, and that he obviously used it enthusiastically, made him feel some type of way.

He looked down at the ground at Steve’s words, feeling childish and stupid all over again. Tony hated how he read him so easily now. It was difficult to keep things from Steve, especially these days. He knew him too well, had come to be familiar with his mannerisms in the last few months, more so than the others. Steve knew him well, really well, actually, but he didn’t know everything.

' _He could know me a lot better_ ,' Tony thought, but pushed that thread away. It would do no good to tug on it now. He would save his pining for the pillow, would ignore the electricity in the air between them whenever they stood too close, the way his heart swelled with affection at Steve's laugh, his smile, his presence, even when they irritated each other, when they fell back into arguments. All of his wishing wouldn't change reality though, and the reality of it was that they would never be together.

“I have my rabies shot,” Tony said instead of admitting any of this, and was relieved to get a breath of laughter in reply. It made his chest warm, relieved some of the pain he still felt from his body’s betrayal. Now if only he could get his damn heart under control too.

Steve led him back to the deck, and with the blond’s encouragement, Tony managed to lay out some boundaries over a plate of burgers and chips.

Steve helped a lot. He approached the situation seriously, face grim, eager to listen, and offered words when Tony lost his. The conversation went on a long time, because Tony had to keep stopping, had to convince himself it really was okay to talk about some of it, even if he didn't offer everything, but Steve's presence was encouraging, and Tony managed to get through it. It was bizarre, really, how easy it was compared to what he was anticipating. Steve knew what he wanted to say, knew how to say it, and all the while exuded calm and comfort from his seat next to Tony at the table. Tony had never noticed just how much the blond paid attention to him, how much he understood him.

But Steve understood a lot of things, he knew. He had a similar relationship with Natasha. Those two were peas in a pod, fought well together and communicated with ease, ease that sometimes Tony envied. But they had an ease of their own now, didn't they? There were times when he didn't have to say anything at all for Steve to understand him, and there were times when he thought they had something special, _could_ have something special together. Tony thought maybe he was just reading too far into it though. He was sure Steve only saw him as a teammate, that there was no extra ounce of affection somewhere in that super-soldier heart that belonged to him only.

It was a nice thought though, to imagine that there could be something between them, that Steve could belong to him. He didn’t deserve him. He wasn’t sure anyone did.

A few hours later, when he was helping the blond wash off the dishes, Tony fell for him a little more as the soldier suggested helping him to feel more comfortable around others in the water. It would be just the two of them, he promised, relaxed and safe. Steve would take his time, would make sure Tony was comfortable, that he could overcome this deep-rooted fear on his own time. Tony couldn't say no to that.

He fought the urge to say “It’s a date,” when confirming their plans. It wasn’t a date, though he wished it was. The time they went out for coffee three days ago wasn’t a date either, and the tickets they had for a gallery opening next week weren’t a date either, and neither was the baseball game last month, or the movie marathon they had two nights ago, but maybe, one day, it all could be. Maybe one day he could be _with_ Steve, be open and affectionate and hug and kiss him and tell him that he loved him, without fear of being laughed at, of being rejected. Maybe Steve could really see something good in Tony, something worth having, and Tony could give himself willingly.

As he handed Steve another plate to dry off, (the blond refused to use the dishwasher) Tony felt at ease once more, the pain and fear abating, finally. It wouldn't be the last time something like this would happen, he was sure, but now he had someone to rely on if it did. Steve was offering to be an open ear, a protector of sorts, and Tony appreciated it more than he could tell. He could ignore his problems now, and the afternoon’s misfortune felt miles away. Maybe even one day, with the blond’s help, he could forget misfortune entirely. Maybe a day would come when he was completely and irrevocably happy, with Steve at his side, and nothing would ever bother him again, especially not his past, the dark specters of his memories.

For now, Tony would keep on dreaming.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment.


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